


Minor Characters Interlude: For Goodness Sake

by gelbes_gilatier



Series: Minor Characters [12]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Christmas, Coming Out, Confessions, F/M, Gen, Gift Giving, Het, Holidays, LGBTQ Character, Season/Series 03, Soldiers, Team as Family, Unresolved Sexual Tension, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:21:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8962372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelbes_gilatier/pseuds/gelbes_gilatier
Summary: Christmas in Atlantis and guess who got the full rotation security shift during the "end of the year holidays party"!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I nearly forgot about this. I already had this written for Christmas last year but finished it too late to post it last year so decided to keep it for this year. In hindsight, that was a really good idea because I even had to forfeit my Secret Santa participation because ever since graduating my Master's (yes. I did it. I graduated. Two years too late but I did it), I've been hit with a pretty bad spell of writer's block. So bad that I pretty sure wouldn't have had a Christmas story this year if it hadn't been for this one. Anyway, theoretically, this is an _Off the Record_ piece but since it takes place in Season 3 of Atlantis, not 1 I can't _post_ it as an _Off the Record_ piece (at least not _now_ ). This is why it's titled as "Interlude". As soon as a I get to actually writing and posting the Off the Record stories for Season 3, it will be incorporated into it. For now, enjoy this one and happy holidays everyone :)

**For Goodness Sake**

_“He sees you when you’re sleeping_  
He knows when you’re awake  
He knows if you’ve been bad or good  
So be good for goodness sake!

 _You better watch out!_  
You better not cry  
You better not pout  
I’m telling you why  
Santa Claus is coming to town.”   


_“Santa Claus is Coming to Town”_

** One **

  _Moore_

 Ah, yeah, lovely. A full rotation security and surveillance shift while the rest of the city is doing their best to get roaring drunk on the limited alcohol supplies we have here; otherwise known as “the annual end of the year holiday party”. Please kill me now.

 Reece says it’s unlikely that things will get too rowdy here, seeing as even the Marines we get are sent here because they have a modicum of brains left in their heads and that people remember very well that this base is still closer to an FOB in The Middle of Nowhere, Iraq than your average complacent military base on US soil, even if we do have slightly better showers than your run of the mill G.I. Joe in the Middle East. And seeing that Reece by now served about three years here, I’m inclined to believe her.

 But dammit, I really did want to go to that damn party.

 Pretty sure my entire team still believes that we’d _be_ at that party now if I hadn’t had complained about being tasked with the most stupid jobs by the IT department but I maintain that us being here is the result of Evan Lorne being drunk on his XO powers and Lorne still being pissed at us for witnessing the little spat between him and Zelenka in the game room a couple weeks ago. Even if I did nothing but complain about the IT department business for two whole weeks in a row. And maybe I also rigged the IT department’s head’s computer to reply to any and all e-mails with nothing but the worst juvenile dirty jokes I could come up with but really, the guy had it coming. Just look at what…

 “Sergeant?” Huh? What does Morsberg want from my NCO?

 “Yes, sir?”

 “What do you think are the chances he’s going to keep up his brooding for the entire shift?” Funny. _Really_ funny. Asshole. Honestly, the only reason I agreed to take him on my team was that he was the only available off-world qualified medic willing to…

 “I’d say minimal, Mats.” Hey, what did I ever do to _you_ , Reece? Also, I thought we had established that the only nickname Morsberg gets called is Moose? “Just give it five more minutes and he’s going to complain very loudly.”

 “Oh,” Morsberg replies, and I’m pretty sure know what’s coming now, “you mean like he did for the last two weeks?” Yep, called it. Just wait for it…

 “Well, complaining very loudly _is_ one of his superpowers, sir.” Okay, that’s enough.

 I swivel around, facing my team lounging around on the surveillance room’s two couches. “I’m sitting _right here_. I can _hear_ you, you know.”

 Reece grimaces and it’s very apparent that she’s pissed off for some reason. “We’d certainly hope so, sir.”

 Okay, that’s weird. Despite hardening up a good bit and standing up to me way more often than she used to at the SGC, Reece always takes great care to be professional and matter-of-factly about it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that cynical undertone before when she geared up to oppose something I said or did. I frown. “Who pissed in _your_ cheerios this morning, Captain?”

 She shrugs, making a show of being totally relaxed and casual. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m good. Don’t worry.” She is and has always been a _terrible_ liar.

 I throw Dee a short look, wordlessly asking him what the hell is wrong but he dares inclining his head to the side just a little bit. Dee body language shorthand for “You’re on your own here, buddy.” How _dare_ he?

 Mystified, I turn back to Reece. “Okay, spill it.”

 Raised eyebrows and a mock clueless tone I haven’t ever heard from her before. “I’m sorry, spill _what_?”

  _What_ is going on here? Dee? Morsberg? A little _help_? “Come on, something’s bothering you. You blame me for something. Just get it over with and tell me.”

  _Something_ tells me I probably shouldn’t push her like this, especially in front of Dee and Morsberg but I couldn’t help it. I just really want to know what the fuck’s got her in a funk like that. She, apparently, isn’t very eager to tell me, though. “Like I said, I’m good. Really. I love being on security and surveillance detail on Christmas Eve. Nothing better than sitting here and watching the entire city lose their head because of one stupid holiday.”

 Actually, it’s a bit more than one – as _she_ told me just two days ago when I couldn’t quite get behind the whole “end of the year holiday party” thing – but pointing that out to her now would probably be counter-productive. Also, I think I finally got what this is about. “Wait, is this about your inexplicable hate for Christmas somehow?” The way she just rolled her eyes tells me very clearly that it is. Which is why I can’t help wondering, “Then again, that would be weird. I always thought you didn’t mind working over the holidays.”

 In fact I know she doesn’t. The one Christmas we had at the SGC we spent first holed up in an off-world winter wonderland because I volunteered the team to take over a mission from Lorne’s team and then at her and Laura’s apartment, licking our wounds from said off-world mission. If it hadn’t been for that botched mission, she’d have spent the entire holidays on call at the SGC. Aside from that, I thought that last Christmas – the first I spent in Atlantis and she ended up falling asleep right next to me on my couch – kinda maybe might have cured her a little from her dislike for Christmas?

 Reece, however, doesn’t confirm my assumption as I’d expected. Instead, she does something absolutely inexplicable. Something like giving a _very_ pissed off sound and then jumping up, even going as far as throwing her hands up. “You _really_ don’t get it, do you?” and with that she’s… gone.

  _What the fucking hell_?

 We’re on security and surveillance, which means that we’re supposed to exclusively spend our time in the surveillance/on call room, as long as we aren’t somewhere in the city, unfucking whatever mess her inhabitants got into, for an entire planetary day. _And she just stomped out of that room we’re supposed to stay in for the duration of our duty_.

  _That_ is definitely not the Captain Maureen Reece I know. After getting over my initial shock I blink and throw both Dee and Morsberg a look that must be suspiciously alike to a deer in headlights. Naturally, _both_ of them look at _me_. Like it was _my_ fault Reece just deserted her post like that. I snap at them, “ _What_?”

 In the end, none of them give me a verbal answer, just a look that clearly says, “Go undo the clusterfuck you just caused,” and the thing I hate most about myself is that I actually get up, growl something like, “Don’t break anything while I’m gone,” and set off to find her.

 I’m almost sure that Morsberg silently flips me off behind my back but I’ll let it slide tonight. It’s Christmas etc. blahblahblah. And while Morsberg and Dee get to frolic about the on call room, I get to walk the festive halls of Atlantis in search of my linguist. God, I hate it when she does that running and hiding thing.

 Truth to be told, she doesn’t do it _that_ often, hasn’t even been doing it much even at the SGC but I guess that’s what makes it so annoying when it does happen. She just… gets up, walks away and holes up somewhere, preferably solitary and high up. _Normally_ , I’d let her do her thing because I’ve learned that she needs that time away from everyone to work out her issues but yeah, did I mention that we’re on _duty_?

 I shake my head. That’s really not like her standard performance. Okay, which of her usual haunts seems most likely this time? Her most favorite is a balcony high above the city, in an unused part of the city. I’ve found her there for the first time after we nearly beat the shit out of each other in the workout room – we had issues that needed solving, okay? – shortly after Dee and I came with the _Daedalus_ , and a few more times after that.

 But something tells me that she didn’t go there today. It’s too far away from the inhabited parts of the city, she’d need too long to get to a spot of trouble… I think I know where she went. Veering off my previous course, I bypass a few common rooms and end up in front of a glass door leading to a small balcony – for some reason, Reece _really_ has a thing for balconies – and yep, there she is. Pacing around and then leaning on the railing, her face buried in her hands. Looking like she knows very well that she made the wrong call with running out of the room.

 By rights, I should just head out there, give her an almighty dressing down and then drag her back to the surveillance room. Which would be of exactly zero use in actually _solving_ this. This requires talking, and I _hate_ “talking”. I sigh. Okay, whatever.

 Squaring my shoulders and rolling my head, I walk through the door. At the sound of the door sliding open, I can see her reacting with a very small jerk – someone’s gotten a lot better at not letting the change in situation get to her – but other than that, no change in her posture. Right. Whatever I said or did today really got to her.

 I take a deep breath. “Kid?”

 I don’t really know what I expected as an answer but it sure wasn’t her hanging her head for a moment and then straightening up and giving me a slightly resigned, “Please, just get it over with, okay?”

 Uh, okay. “Get it over with what?”

 I can see that she really wants to roll her eyes but can just barely resist. “Oh, you know. Abandoned my post, yelled at a superior, Conduct Unbecoming, yadda, yadda, the full Monty.”

 Ah, fuck, I didn’t _want_ to laugh, didn’t even want to grin but fuck, that was just a little bit too funny for me not to at least smirk a little. “Yeah, you’re right, I really should do that.” You know, if I were what you’d call a proper commanding officer. Since I’ve apparently never managed to become one, I guess it’s too late to start now. “ _Or_ you could tell me what all of this is about.”

 She frowns. “All of what, sir?” Ah, and we’re back to the sir. I know I told her to call me Tom as long as we’re off duty but to be honest, that restriction was mostly for her benefit. I knew she wasn’t ready to go past rank when I asked her to drop it but to be honest, it’s really starting to chafe that she _still_ clings to rank and sir whenever she can. I don’t even know why but it’s driving me fucking _crazy_.

 But yeah, we got some more pressing problems right now. I wave around my hand. “Oh, you know. Abandoning your post, yelling at your superior, Conduct Unbecoming, yadda, yadda, the full Monty.”

 Aha, I just _bet_ she’s this close to rolling her eyes and giving me one of those reluctant grins – she _wants_ to, I can see that as clear as day – but so far, she seems to be able to fight that impulse. Instead, she goes for running a hand through her hair, partly messing up the tight bun she keeps all those curls in. “I’m… sorry, sir. That was all uncalled for. I… formally apologize and…”

 Oh good _God_. “Yeah, yeah, apology accepted, etc.” She can’t really believe that I’m here for a stupid _apology_ , right? Laura pulled things a lot more “unbecoming” and “uncalled for” and I never called her on it. Hell, at some point Dee _threatened me with my own knife_. And me… let’s really not go into all the stupid things _I_ did over the course of my career. I can’t resist another sigh. “Look, Kid, no need to apologize. Just tell me what the hell I did wrong this time, please?”

 See, that’s why no one ever takes me seriously as a commander. Because, in the wrong moments, I _always_ add stuff like “please” and _ask_ people to do things instead of simply ordering them to. That’s why Evan Lorne is executive officer for the entire Pegasus contingent and I barely qualify to lead a four man team. Not that I mind, but once in a while… “It’s… it’s not really something you did wrong.”

 Huh. I raise my eyebrows at her and she’s evading my eyes. “Somehow, I have trouble believing that.”

 “Yeah,” she mutters and incredibly even adds in that same low, under her breath voice, “that’s because you always think it’s about you.”

 The fucking _nerve_ … I take another deep breath. Judging from the lovely blush creeping up her neck and cheeks, she knows _exactly_ that she just did this thing where she sometimes lets her mouth get away with something her brain would never have allowed it to say. Nowadays, that lack of brain to mouth filter usually requires a heavy dose of painkillers and/or anesthetics but now and then, it does happen when she’s completely sober. Unfortunately, I love those little moments too much to be really pissed off at her, and right now, it was a prime moment. Laura would have been so _fucking_ proud of her.

 “Okay,” I manage to grind out, “let’s all just pretend you didn’t say that and rewind to right before you did. Now… tell me what the fuck went wrong back in the surveillance room? _Please_?”

 “I…” she fumbles around, fingers curling around the edge of her flak vest, needlessly straightening it before something seems to ripple through her, somehow taking all her defenses with it and she ends up sitting on the floor, with her back against the balcony’s railing and her legs drawn towards her chest as far as the geared up flak vest and the leg holster for her Beretta allow.

 She looks so dejected for a moment that I can’t help but sit down next to her, gingerly, so as not to spook her again. For a moment, I’m back at my quarters, last Christmas, Reece standing in front of my door, the blackout, Reece falling asleep next to me… I blink and shake my head slightly. Better not get lost in that again. _Ever_ again.

 Better focus on the here and now. I consider how to make her spill whatever just happened but as Laura once pointed out I’m really horrible at making someone talk so I keep my mouth shut and concentrate on not making this any more uncomfortable for her than it already seems to be.

 In the end, surprisingly, keeping quiet pays off because after another moment of silence, she says, “It’s really not your fault, or at least not entirely.” Right. That’s… good? “I’d just have preferred to spent tonight in my quarters or you know, up there,” meaning the other balcony I mentioned, “just not… that close to all that holiday cheer.”

 Okay. At least that explains why she was so pissed off at having to be on security and surveillance duty on Christmas Eve. For someone who hates to be around people celebrating Christmas, having to keep watch in front of the cameras for almost an entire rotation – minus everyone’s sleep breaks – is probably like having to be _right_ in the middle of it. I get being cranky about that. What I don’t get, though, is, “Why is that so bad, anyway?”

 For a moment, I can nearly see Laura right in front of me, rolling her eyes and telling me “Way to go, asshole, why don’t you just permanently attach your foot to your fucking mouth?” because it looks very much like that was the exact wrong thing to say but then, maybe out of some Christmas miracle or something, she just looks away and buries her head in her hands again. Before saying, in a voice almost too low to be heard over the distant crashing of waves against Atlantis’s piers and the soft drizzle of rain pattering down, “I guess it’s mostly Mom’s fault.”

 Um. Alright. Yes. What? I blink. “What do you mean, your mother’s fault?”

 She doesn’t look at me. “It’s just… my mom was married before she met my father. They had me pretty late, were both in their late thirties.” Here’s the thing: I didn’t even know that. So yeah, it’s in her files but she never _told_ me about it. She hasn’t told me much beyond “they died in a car accident when I was in my senior year at college” about her parents, at all. Then again… I never asked, either. “So anyway, my dad wasn’t her first husband. She had this other guy, met him in college when they were both protesting against the Vietnam War, got married when they were in their senior year. And then, you know, the inevitable happened.”

 Right. Okay. I think I know where this is going. I swallow. “He got drafted?”

 She nods. “Yep. Made it about six months into his tour and that was that.”

 For a moment, the casualness in her tone makes me start but then I have one of my rare revelations. She’s not really being casual about the whole thing, she’s just trying to put some distance between herself and the whole thing. Laura would be proud. Wouldn’t she? And then, just like that, _another_ revelation. “Let me guess: happened around Christmas?”

 There’s a small nod from her. “December 23rd 1968, to be precise.” Huh, considering that she didn’t even know that guy… “And yes, you may wonder “Gee, why in the world would she know that?”” Sarcasm, Reece? Please don’t. For some reason, it always makes me all hot and bothered. “The answer’s easy: Arlington.” Arlington? “That’s where we usually spent December 23rd. We visited his grave and my maternal grandfather’s grave – you know, the one who was a Marine in the Pacific?” Uh, no. No, I didn’t know that. “Anyway, he died in December 1955, how’s that for stupid coincidence? Oh, also my paternal grandfather’s, paternal grand _mother_ ’s… surprisingly many of my family are buried there, considering we’re not really a military family.”

 I can’t believe she just told me more about her family in the last couple minutes than in the entire four years we’ve been serving together. Why… why did she never tell me that? And why, in God’s name, did I never _ask_? “Look, Kid, I…”

 She waves her hand dismissively. “’S okay. You know that it’s not your fault, right? If I’d wanted to tell you earlier, I would have.”

 That’s not that reassuring, Kid. Means until now, after _years_ , there was some reason you didn’t feel comfortable around me to tell me, or maybe didn’t trust me enough. Some of that _is_ my fault, and I wish I knew what. But yeah, guess she’s not going to tell me so I decided to let it lie for now and focus on the task at hand. “That doesn’t sound like the best Christmas of all times, to be honest.”

 She snorts humorlessly and makes a gesture with her hands, something that speaks of helplessness and I _think_ I’m starting to see it now. Her mother never really got over losing her first husband – and probably her father, thinking about it – and Christmas kept reminding her of the loss, every damn year. As a result… “Well, let’s just say that Christmas was usually spent with visiting graves and then Mom and Dad fighting, so… you know. Not a happy time.” Okay, I guess she doesn’t hate Christmas, then. She probably just never really had a reason to like it.

 Well. I guess I owe _her_ an apology. “Hey, look, I’m sorry I…”

 “God, why am I even telling you this?” Huh? “I must have lost my fucking mind, that’s why.”

 Ah, someone thinks she totally went oversharing. I nearly let it slip, knowing how embarrassed something like that usually makes her and how much she usually wants anyone who got to listen to it to forget it ever happened but tonight, _something_ makes me say, “Yeah, chances are that’s the best explanation.” Okay, that was mean. I nearly expect her to cream me again, so I hasten to add, “Or _maybe_ it was because I’m your friend?”

 You know what’s really weird? That I didn’t even know I actually _meant_ that before I said it out loud. I am her friend. Or at least I’d like to be. I’d really, really like to be Maureen Reece’s friend, like, _officially_. Like Dee and Morsberg are her friends. Like Laura used to be. Like Cadman became one in the course of last year.

 There’s a long, painful moment of silence when neither of us says anything, and I know that my hope of being her friend just like all those other people was futile. I’m not her friend. Not for her. I’m… “I… sir…”

 “Tom.” Right. She’s probably about to tell you to leave her the fuck alone and stop pushing yourself towards her and you go on telling her to call her by your first name. As in, _all the time_ , not just off duty. Go on, you really can’t mess it up any more. “That’s me, you know. That’s what my friends call me. Even on duty.”

 Again, I’m not sure what I expected her to say. But it sure as hell wasn’t, “Really? How come Dee _never_ calls you anything but sir?”

 Before I know it, the words, “That’s something entirely else,” are out of my mouth and it takes me all until I notice that little grin tucking at the corners of her mouth to realize that she nearly successfully manipulated me into abandoning the current topic. Goddammit. “And we’re _not_ going to discuss that _now_.”

 “Roger that, sir.” That’s just not fair. Next to Dee, Reece is the person with the best poker face I know and _none_ of them even _play_ poker. I swear to God, Dee and Reece are the only people who can pull off straight-faced – as long as Reece doesn’t actively attempt to lie – so perfectly that sometimes, I have no idea whether they’re being ironic or serious. Like, you know, now.

 Either way, I’m getting fed up with the entire situation and anyway, we’re still on duty and if Lorne happens to come across the surveillance room right now, my ass will most certainly be on the line because Dee and Morsberg _are_ actually frolicking about it, just out of spite so I decide to cut the crap right now and get up and offer her my hand. Reece’s only reaction is looking up at me with her eyebrows raised, only millimeters away from that “oh God, the Major’s being an idiot again, isn’t he?” look she seems to have perfected since we got back on the same team. I try to ignore it to get the fucking job done. “Come on, Captain, we’re still on duty. Get with the program.”

 Because see, I’ve learned a thing or two about coaxing – _manipulating_ is such an ugly word – Maureen Reece into doing something she’s not too keen on in the last year, as well. If there’s anything that gets her going it’s either pushing her or appealing to her sense of duty. So yep, she rolls her eyes but she also clasps my hand and lets me pull her to her feet. And I remember something. I’d half decided against it just last night but something in her still a little dejected stance makes me add, “’Sides… I got something for you.”

 She frowns at me. “You do?”

 Well. No getting out of it _now_. I give a little sigh. “Yeah. And for the guys, as well. I know it’s not Christmas Day yet and all… anyway, we’ll need to make a short detour to my quarters. Let’s get going, huh?”

 I’m positive that she just wanted to roll her eyes again and give me some shit about still being on duty and having to get with the program but in the end she surprises me and rolls her shoulders, then says, “Sure. Let’s get going… Tom.”

 What the…? I blink and look at her and there’s a very small, very lovely, almost mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and… I’m a goner. Something in my head just snaps and I _know_ I shouldn’t be doing it, especially not out in public but I just can’t help it and put my arm around her shoulders, even risk a squeeze and I guess _my_ Christmas present this year is that she doesn’t immediately hack the arm off but instead just shakes her head and you know… let’s me do my thing.

 Merry fucking Christmas to me, holy hell.


	2. Two

** Two **

_DeLisle_

 “You know that he has eyes in the back of his head, right, sir?” Morsberg just shrugs.

 “Sure hope he does.” Right. Of course he’d say that. By now, I’ve known him long enough to know that he’d say something like that after flipping the Major off behind his back and being reminded of the Major’s special field grade powers. Sometimes, I still wonder what Matthias Morsberg is doing on this team if he obviously doesn’t have much regard for its leader. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Sergeant. Just joking.”

 Ah, yeah, right. Joking. “Honestly not sure if it’s the Major’s sense of humor, sir.”

 He snorts. “Seriously, Dee? You guys have been working together for what, ten years?” Well… yeah. I nod. “I’m pretty sure you know what’s the Major’s brand of humor.”

 Saying no would be lying, and ever since leaving the CIA I made a point of never lying unless it was absolutely inevitable. I sigh again. “You’re right, it’s probably _exactly_ his brand of humor.”

 Morsberg makes a ta da kind of gesture and then walks over to the monitor wall, plops himself down in one of the swiveling chairs. For a few minutes, he just watches the feed, browsing the monitors a little disinterested but suddenly… something seems to have grabbed his attention. He leans forward, murmuring something like, “Na, wen haben wir denn da?” and looks at one of the monitors with an intent gaze.

 I _know_ I should just leave it, stay where I am on my couch but damn, even after over a decade in Black and Covert Ops, I’m still too damn curious for my own good. I really shouldn’t indulge my gossip loving side but what the hell, ‘tis the night before Christmas and seriously, security and surveillance is a shitty kind of duty, sometimes you just gotta use the few perks it offers. I saunter over to the monitor wall and peer over Morsberg’s shoulder, hands in my pockets. “Something interesting, sir?”

 “Mh, absolutely,” he says and points to one of the monitors in the middle row.

 Well, look at that. Maureen. On a balcony. “She really has a thing about balconies, doesn’t she?”

 I can’t see Morsberg’s face but I can definitely hear the irritation in his voice. “Yeah, it was kinda annoying in that first year.” I bet it was. “And look who’s searching for her.” He points to another monitor and then looks at me, grinning. “Do you think we should give him a hint?”

 We probably should because that’s what good teammates do. Then again, he of all people should have known why having to pull security and surveillance on Christmas Eve ticked off Maureen. I shake my head. “Nah, he’s smart. He’ll figure it out himself.”

 “Have I mentioned that I like the way you think, Sergeant?” Not that much, actually. Huh.

 On the monitor, the Major seems to have had an epiphany, since he changes from standing around to charging off into a direction, looking like he knows where to look… “Well, that was fast.”

 Morsberg looks back at the monitor, this time the one with Maureen. She doesn’t look happy on her balcony, more like she just realized that good Marines don’t just desert their post because their commander pissed them off and… there we go. Major enters the balcony, can’t see what he’s saying as he’s standing with his back to the camera… I narrow my eyes a little and lean forward. “Please, just get… something, something… with.”

 “Huh?” What? “Anything you want to tell me, Sergeant?”

 Oh. Oh right, _that_. I shrug. “I think she just told him to “get it over with”.” Raised eyebrows on Morsberg’s side. “Lip reading. She taught me. Not a lot but it does help sometimes.”

 Morsberg gives a little whistle – respect? – and then turns back to the monitor gesturing and says, “Okay, Sergeant Jack of all Trades, do your thing.”

 Right. Should I remind him that technically, we’re using government issued equipment to satisfy our curiosity or… Nah. That would be hypocritical. I lean forward again, trying to concentrate. “Okay, she… apologizes. Not sure for what but probably just running out like she did.”

 “Makes sense. I take it there’s no chance to find out what he’s saying?” Morsberg asks, a little hopefull.

 I shake my head. “Not as long as he’s standing with his back to the camera, no.” Anyway, back to her. She lowers her head a little, which, damn, makes it harder to see her lips but I think… “Whoa.”

 “Sergeant?” Haha, you’re gonna love this one, Stabsarzt, I promise.

 “I think she just told him something like “You always think it’s about you.” Something really messed her up tonight.” Because that kind of quip? Not her style, unless she’s either drugged up to her collar – her lack of brain-to-mouth filter when being under the influence of anesthetics or pain killers is by now near legendary – or really pissed off at something or someone. Most times, it’s the Major who pissed her off.

 Morsberg leans forward a little, too. “He doesn’t look happy about it.” Yeah, that’s what his body language says. He does this thing with running his hand over his face and then through his hair, then shortly puts his hands to his hips and ends up with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Classic “I hate it when this happens” Major.

 Too bad I can’t see what he’s saying. Maureen for her part just give him a single “I…” and turns to fumble around with her flak vest before she finally goes to sit down on the floor, her back against the balcony’s railing. There’s a short, weird moment of the Major just standing there, looking down at her and I wish I could see the look on his face. “Bottle of Astra he’s going to throw up his hands and leave her sitting there.”

 Yeah, no. I’ve known the Major too long and I’ve seen the beginning of whatever weird thing Maureen and he have going. “Bottle of Jack he’s not.”

 “Done,” Morsberg just agrees and we both keep staring at the monitor. And yep, after another weird moment, the Major goes and sits down. Right next to her.

 I grin at our medic. “You owe me one of those weird mini-bottles, sir.”

 Morsberg makes a face. “Looks like I do. Pity it’s my last one for the next three… wait, what did they just talk about?”

 I concentrate again, mentally walk back through the conversation and frown. “I think he just asked her why she doesn’t like Christmas,” which, depending on how much she calmed down by now, might be a genius or a really fucking dumb move, “and I think she said that it was… her mother’s fault?”

 On the monitor, the Major seems to repeat what she said, apparently asking for clarification and I look at Morsberg. He looks at me, we look back at the monitor and something… “You know what? I think that’s enough lip reading practice for today.”

 What… yeah. Yeah, I guess he’s right. What I could catch – apparently, her mother used to be married before she met Maureen’s father? – is something she has never told me before, and if I have learned anything about Maureen it’s that she doesn’t volunteer personal information just like that, to about anyone. If she tells you something personal about herself, it’s because she _wants_ to tell _you_ , and really only you, in _that_ moment. Spying on her like that suddenly really doesn’t feel right. I turn around, sit against the desk in front of the monitors and look at Morsberg. “You know what? I think you’re right, sir.”

 Our medic just nods and turns his chair away from the monitor as well. He clears his throat and takes great care not to look at any of the monitors, not even by accident. “So, Sergeant… got anything interesting for Christmas?”

 I raise an eyebrow. “It’s not Christmas Day yet, sir.”

 He rolls his eyes. “Ah, yeah, right, Americans. But you _did_ get a package or two, right?”

 Huh. As a matter of fact… I did. I shrug. “Sure. Gonna open it tomorrow.” It’s from my last foster mother, and I’m pretty sure it’s gonna hold the same thing every other Christmas package from my foster mother held. A big box of homemade cookies – my last foster parents have a farm, what did you expect? – a new sweater and a pair of socks. I have no idea why the socks but I guess maybe it’s some Vietnam Vet wife thing? Anyway, “What about you?”

 His first reply is a snort, pretty much derisive, then a growl. Then: “Yet another THW Kiel jersey and, to top it off a goddamn, THW Kiel _scarf_.” Wait, he already opened… ah, right. Christmas Eve. Our shift started two hours ago, early evening and I think I remember that the Germans open their presents on early evening on Christmas Eve.

 One thing I don’t get, though… “What’s so bad about that?”

 “It means my parents don’t know a thing about me.” Okay. That’s actually not really news. After working two years with him, I do know that Morsberg and his father don’t see eye to eye and that the one thing he resents his mother for is that she never really took the time to actually get to _know_ him. But what does that have to do… “Sorry, you couldn’t have known that. Remember that I played handball until I finished university?” I do, actually. “THW Kiel has a very successful handball major league team. I played mostly for HSV, a rival club. I _hate_ THW Kiel. The only people who like THW Kiel are THW Kiel fans.”

 Huh. I frown. “And your mother doesn’t know that?”

 He shakes his head and then makes a helpless gesture. “I honestly don’t know. I mean, she came to my games and everything. How anyone could think I’d voluntarily wear anything… Anyway, doesn’t matter. Fucking Zebras.” What the… “THW Kiel’s mascot is a zebra. Don’t ask.”

 Okay, I won’t. I also won’t ask him how the hell a mother could get her son’s favorite sports club as wrong as that and keep doing it for _years_. Even my foster mother, who has only had me for four years before I turned eighteen at least knows my favorite color – Air Force blue, I’m not even joking – and knows what kinds of cookies I like – raspberry white chocolate, for the record, but don’t tell anyone, it’ll totally ruin my reputation – so how could… okay, you know what, I’m not going to keep thinking about it. At least it does explain a little about our medic.

 “Okay, uh, how about we… oh, huh.” Mh? Oh, he turned back towards the monitors. And… “Damn, sneaky bastards.” Sneaky bastards indeed. They both left the balcony while we weren’t watching. “Where are you, guys?”

 I blink and look at the monitors again. Ah, there they are. I point to the one connected to the camera in the corridor adjacent to the balcony. Morsberg’s gaze follows my finger and he sees them, too. They’re walking along the corridor but I can’t make what out what they’re talking about because they’re both with the back to us. They’re walking along and whoa, physical contact? Seriously, sir? You never… “Echt, jetzt? Whenever I do that, I get a fucking punch to the gut and he just gets to fucking squeeze her shoulders and walks off _free_? Not fair.”

 I know he wants compassion or whatever but all I can do is snort and tell him, “It’s not like neither of us knows that she’s got a soft spot for him.”

 “Yeah,” he says while the Major and Maureen walk along the corridor, still just a little bit too close to be completely proper, “tell me about it.” Then he takes a deep breath and mutters, “Not like _no one_ knows she’s got a soft spot for him.”

 Huh, that’s weird. I know it can’t be jealousy but I don’t think I’ve ever heard that weird note of disapproval in his voice when it’s about Maureen and the Major. I frown. “You got a problem with it?”

 I almost expect him to answer something like “I’ve got _plenty_ of problems with it,” and honestly, he would have been right. There _are_ a lot of problems with the way the Major and Maureen treat each other, all the things they don’t tell each other, all the things they _don’t_ do with each other… well. In the end, however, Morsberg just shakes his head and murmurs, “I’m just worried for her.”

 Mh, right. I roll my eyes. “I’m worried for _both_ of them.” Because honestly, what they’re doing there, have been doing for almost four fucking years, that can’t be good for _either_ of them. Morsberg’s throws me a beaten down look. “ _And_ she can take care of herself.”

 Morsberg raises his hands in defeat. “Alright, good point, Sergeant. As always, I defer to your superior judgment.”

 Right. I roll my eyes again. “That would be a first.” An officer. He’s still an officer. “Sir.”

 Thankfully, he’s not the Major so instead of at least giving me a dirty look all he does is snort and quip, “You love us anyway, don’t you?”

 God, I hate that guy. He’s being all “I’m just a random foreign officer, don’t mind me” and lulling you into a false sense of security and then he comes up with crap like that. I don’t _want_ to grin but I can’t help doing it anyway. “With all my heart, sir.”

 “With all your heart what, Dee?” Oops. Should have kept watching that security camera feed.

 Both of us turn around, trying to look innocent, to the sight of the Major and Maureen back in the room, a canvas bag in the Major’s hand. Huh? “Okay, never mind.” Never mind… He holds up the bag. “Be… what do they call this again in Germany, Kid?”

 She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Bescherung… Tom.” _Tom_? I resist turning to Morsberg but I’m positive that he just thought the exact same thing. Since when is it _Tom_ on _duty_?

 “Bescherung, kids!” Right.

 What?

 There’s an expectant look on the Major’s face, like he just told a joke and waits for the punch line to hit us or something. In the end, it’s Morsberg who clears up the confusion. “Finally! You came around. I converted a bunch of Americans to the correct way to do Christmas. Oh happy, happy day!” I still got nothing. He sighs. “Presents. We’re getting presents. That’s Major Santa Claus over there.”

 Oh. Oooh. We get _presents_?

 The Major nods and puts the bag on the coffee table in front of the two ratty couches in the far corner. “Yep. You get presents. Come on guys, let’s get it over with before first solo shift.”

 I share a look with Morsberg and Maureen and well, it might not have been the most graceful invitation but hey, presents. That doesn’t happen too often. We all move over to the couches. Bescherung. Woohoo.


	3. Three

** Three **

_Morsberg_

 Bescherung. After about five years of service with Americans and more Christmases than not spent in their company, I _finally_ get my presents on Christmas Eve and it happens in the surveillance room of Atlantis, in a corner with two slightly shabby couches and in another galaxy. Figures.

 Well then, let’s see what the Major – or, as he is of late, _Tom_ – has in store for us. Knowing him… “Okay, Dee, this one’s for you.” He gives Dee a small package, wrapped in… wow, _actual_ Christmas wrapping paper. I am honestly surprised, really. So it’s not like I don’t like the Major – actually, in the two years we served together, I learned to like him, in all his irreverent, insolent, I’ve-been-serving-my-country-in-Black-Ops-before-you-even-put-on-your-first-pair-of-combat-boots glory – it’s just that he’s just not a wrapping paper type of person.

 Anyway, Dee doesn’t look too impressed, and I can’t fault him for that, especially since the package the Major hands me with something that sounds like a badly mangled “Fröhliche Weihnachten” – I _think_ it was supposed to mean that, anyway – is considerably bigger. Last but not least, there’s Maureen, getting a cube shaped package, accompanied by, “I did say I have something for you.”

 She rolls her eyes but takes it from his hand. “So,” she says, “how _do_ you do it in Germany, Mats?”

 I have honestly no idea how this suddenly turned into one of the really rare “How do you do it in Germany, Mats?” settings that have sprung up since I first met Maureen and that I am very certain she’s only pushing on me to mess with me and well, anyway. It’s Christmas Eve, and while I wasn’t ever really big on Christmas, or at least not as big as _some_ Atlantis inhabitants are I’m not as far into Grinch territory as her so I decide to indulge them.

 I take a deep breath. “Well, first of all, there would have been a Christmas tree to put the presents under. Then, the Major would have had to send us out and then ring a little bell to call us back in and then we might have had to sing a little song or say a little po…”

 “Okay, uh, can we _not_ do it like they do it in Germany?” Dee interrupts me and he does look a little uncomfortable. Huh?

 The Major snorts. “Request approved, Sergeant.” Apparently, both Maureen and I had the same thought and look at him kind of questioning. He rolls his eyes. “You two have never heard that guy over there sing, and you can count yourself very lucky.”

 Dee just shrugs. “I do a mean harmonica solo, though.” I’ve been on the same team with the guy for two years and I didn’t even know he plays the harmonica. I throw Maureen a look and the look on her face tells me pretty clearly that she didn’t know, either. That’s kind of reassuring, actually.

 “It’s true, he does,” the Major adds needlessly and I’m starting to get the feeling that he’s just messing with us. That they’re _both_ messing with us.

 Maureen, for her part either hasn’t seen it yet – which I highly, _highly_ doubt – or is playing along on purpose, saying, “Really? Four fucking years of knowing you and you never told me about this? Shame on you, Sergeant, _shame_ …”

 Och jetzt reicht’s aber. “Oh for fuck’s sake, can we get to _opening the damn presents_?”

 I practically expect them to all break out giggling because that’s what you’d expect from a band of people who’ve known each other and have been working very closely with each other for years and who probably still see you as the new guy, even after two years but, as it sometimes happens, something completely different happens.

 They do stop short and look like they’re considering doing the giggling thing anyway and yet again I wonder if they even know how much in tune with each other they all look but then the Major just goes and nods, saying, “Good point, Stabsarzt.” I know I’m being unfair but sometimes it still amazes me that Major “What do you mean, there are other languages than English?” Moore actually learned to pronounce my rank the correct way. _Exactly_ the way it needs to be pronounced. Like a German would. Like Maureen does. “Okay, have at it, guys.”

 I take a look both at Maureen and Dee and in the end, Dee rolls his eyes and raises his hand in a defeated kind of way. “Alright, I’ll start.” With that, he starts to unwrap the package and… what hell is _that_?

 Maureen looks like she’s wondering the same thing about the about fifteen centimeters long tubey thing in Dee’s hand and… _why_ is the Major trying so hard not to grin and wait, why is Dee _laughing_ like that. I’m about to say something but Maureen beats me to it. “Are you going to elaborate on what’s so fucking funny or…”

 “It’s a goose call,” Dee explains between two bouts of laughter – I didn’t even know he _could_ do more than just smirk or maybe grin knowingly – which clears up exactly nothing.

 The Major for his part apparently lost the fight against the urge to join in Dee’s laughter and after another chuckle adds, “Back at AFSOC, Dee’s call sign used to be Mother Goose.”

 Oh. Huh. It is starting to make sense. I mean, I don’t really know anything about hunting but back in Afghanistan I once accompanied a Ranger foot patrol deep in the Hindukush, doing village stability operations and one of the guys was _crazy_ about shooting birds, wild geese especially. We would go into the mountain villages for some hearts and minds stuff, talking to the village elders and he’d pull out this thing that makes honking sounds whenever kids were about and anyway, long story short, yes, I know what a goose call is for. I still don’t really get what’s so funny about it, but…

 “But really, sir, you shouldn’t have.” Huh?

 “Shouldn’t have what? Guys, seriously, what’s going on here?” It’s kind of nice to see that Maureen seems to be just as clueless as I am. Kind of takes the sting out of it. I guess.

 Instead of answering right away, Dee just hands her the goose call. She examines it for a moment and then rolls her eyes. “ _If the goslings are being stupid and you know it, honk_? Really… Tom?” There. There it is again. We’re on duty, and up to now, she always made a point of _not_ calling him Tom when we’re on duty. It was always, _always_ “sir” on duty, and she made sure everyone – especially “Tom” – knew that she was doing it on purpose. 

 Dee seems to share my momentary confusion but since he doesn’t mention it and the Major doesn’t seem put off by it, I decide to forego mentioning it now and save it for later when both the Major and Dee are on their breaks.

 The Major, in answer to her remark, just shrugs. “Since we’re officers and he’s a delicate little flower of an NCO, he’d never go as far as giving us a slap on the back of our heads.” Wow. Someone’s in a really good mood all of a sudden. The hell happened when Dee and I weren’t looking? “So, to spare him the agonizing pain of not being able to properly express his displeasure in the future, I got him this.”

 That makes Dee rolls his eyes but the gratitude when he simply says, “Appreciate it, sir,” is genuine and makes me wonder why they still call each other “sir” and “Sergeant” but yeah, another thing I’m not going to talk about to anyone today or in the near future. Or ever.

 “Anyway, Kid, what about you?” Ah. So we’re on to the next topic.

 Maureen just blinks at the Major. “What about me?”

 He rolls his eyes. “Just open the damn present.” Right. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that the Major suddenly became a little nervous. Huh.

 For a moment, it looks like Maureen is going to keep playing oblivious, just to rile him up but then she does what she always does when he’s being an idiot. She just gives a resigned sigh and goes for her present, mumbling, “Fine, have it your way.” She doesn’t look like she’s expecting much of it as she unwraps it and looks a little skeptical as she opens the cubic box that appears.

 What she pulls out is a… snow globe? She throws me a look, a very short one and the Major must have seen it because he shrugs, rubs his neck – sure sign that he’d really rather be somewhere else right now – and says, making a point of sounding casual, “I know it’s not New York but…”

 “I like it,” she simply says and smiles that tiny, kind of absentminded smile she seems to have reserved for when he manages to surprise her in a good way and when the glitter and fake snow inside the globe settles, I can see why. It’s Atlantis, sitting there in all her glory. Where the _fuck_ did he get that one?

 Also, how the hell did he know about the New York snow globe that was destroyed during the big Wraith attack at the end of our first year here when her office was blown to bits by a freak laser beam? Far as I know, she never told him that she even brought it here in the first place. I’m this close to actually ask him but that would probably just end in him spouting some nonsense about Black Ops special powers of whatever and anyway, it would only serve to embarrass Maureen and I’m not that kind of guy.

 I’d also like to comment on the totally stupid way the two of them are looking at each other, just for a moment, you know, something like “Get a fucking room,” but then again, I’ve been wanting to say that ever since the first time seeing them together, back in the Broadmoor’s Rocky Mountains Ballroom, _this_ close to making a scene right there on the dance floor and by now I’m used to mentally rolling my eyes and keeping it to myself. God knows it’s complicated enough between them for some unfathomable reason, and like hell I’m gonna be the one making it all blow up in all our faces.

 So instead, I just throw Dee one of the practiced “Do you want to or shall I?” looks we learned ever since starting to serve together and Dee takes pity on me, clearing his throat and going, “Hey, sir, what did you get?”

 From the way Maureen and the Major look, they know very well that Dee just deployed diversionary tactics but wisely, none of them chooses to comment. Instead, all eyes are on me now. _Great_. “I don’t know, Sergeant. Guess we’ll have to find out,” I murmur, less than enthusiastic. Out of all of us, the Major has known me the shortest and honestly, I’m not really sure if he ever bothered to remember more of me than what’s in my file.

 The things Maureen and Dee got… well, they might be a little tacky but for some reason, both of them actually liked them. Meaning that either the Major got very, _very_ lucky or he paid a lot more attention to both of them than any of us would ever give him credit for. So yeah, I’m kinda dreading whatever he gave me since I’m pretty sure he didn’t pay more attention to me than “medic, needed to save my ass, weird, kind of a nag”.

 Okay, whatever, dann wollen wir mal. I take a deep breath, resist rolling my eyes and start unwrapping the rectangular box my present is actually… right. I knew it. He really put some thought in the other two presents and I get a – wait for it – stethoscope. Because _what_ do you get the medic who has everything? Oh, that’s right. Another fucking _stethos_ … “I uh… I got this from my Aunt Peggy when I went to Maine in September.”

 Huh? “I… don’t really…”

 “Well, she’s not my _real_ aunt. I just call her that.” I still have _no_ idea what this is about? I throw Dee and Maureen a kind of helpless look and _just_ my luck, _they_ look like they’re starting to get an idea what this is about. Fuck, I really _hate_ it when they do… “ _Actually_ , she’s retired Army Colonel Margaret Greenspan.”

 Green… Greenspan. Laura once said that her mother used to be an Army nurse, in the Vietnam War and a couple years beyond that. Went into the Army Reserve and made it all up to Colonel there. I look at the stethoscope sitting there in his box again. All of a sudden, there’s a terrible lump in my throat. “Sir, I…”

 “She said she found it when she cleared out her basement in the summer.” Over three years after Laura’s death. Who, as far as I remember it, was the only one of her children who was still talking to her. “It was Laura’s first stethoscope. Belonged to her father before that, I think.” Laura never really told me what happened to her father but I know that it happened when she was still a kid. And that it was something pretty horrifying.

 Breathing is still really hard for some reason. I try to swallow it and buckle up. “Sir, I’m sorry, but I really can’t…”

 “You know what Aunt Peg said when she gave it to me? She said… Oh yeah, she said, “Hey, Tom, I know you don’t want to talk about her but do me a favor? Give this to someone who deserves it. She’d have wanted it that way.” And I guess Aunt Peg was right.” And that’s… all. After that, there’s only silence and three sets of eyes turned on me, expecting me to… say _something_? I guess?

 I, for lack of a better word, fumble around, wiping a thump over the plastic lid covering the box. That is when I realize that there is something engraved in the bell’s upside. I narrow my eyes a little and look a little closer. The words are a little smudged and worn out from years and years of use but I can make out _Experientia et Progressus_ on the upside and _To Conserve Fighting Strength_ on the downside. And there are also words engraved on the downward slope of the earpiece, words that are clearly visible… _Der Menschlichkeit verpflichtet_.

 Right. This is a fucking _family_ heirloom, with personal inscriptions – both mottos of the US Army Medical Service Corps and Army Medical Department if I remember it right, _and_ apparently also my own medical corps’s motto recently added – and… he’s giving it to _me_? “Sir, I… I don’t know what to say.”

 I expect him to quip something meaningless or other but he never gets to it. Instead, Maureen beats him to it, her voice quiet, when she suggests, “How about “thank you”?” There’s a smile on her face, a little sad, a bit encouraging and if it hadn’t been there, I’d probably been really pissed at her but yeah that way?

 No chance at all. I nod and try not to let my voice falter when I turn back to the Major. “Thank you, sir.”

 He gives me a half-grin that looks… embarrassed? Huh. Don’t tell me I finally, after two years, caught the great Major Thomas Moore off-guard. And with actual _feelings_. “Welcome, Moose.” Right. And we’re back to the weird nickname he pinned on me a couple months into his first year here. I’m still not sure how it happened but according to Maureen, it was definitely painkiller related.

 There is, however, unfortunately, an awkward silence engulfing the room and I’m nearly about to resolve it with telling Maureen and the Major to just get a fucking room, just to, you know, see their reactions and turn the focus away from me and the highly personal and surprisingly thoughtful present the Major just gives me when he beats me to it, saying, “Hey, Morsberg, can I ask you something?”

 My first impulse is to tell him to shove the damn question up his ass but then again, it sounded casual, with no stupid agenda behind it so I decide to simply shrug. “Sure, sir.”

 He runs a hand through his hair and asks, “Did you and Laura ever… you know?”

 Oh _Jesus_ fucking Christ. Really? _Really_? I can’t believe that after what he just got me, he’d actually stoop as low as… Huh. Wait. As much as I can’t believe it, there wasn’t any sarcasm or accusation in it. Just genuine… interest. You know, as in casually asking a friend if they ever did this or that. Which, you know, won’t save him from Maureen beating him over the head if I don’t answer fast enough so I tell him the first thing that comes to my mind. “No, sir, because that would have required _both_ of us to be straight.”

 Okay, that’s not exactly what I’d been planning on say… “Not necessarily? Far as I remem… Wait.” Wait? Wait for what? “Did you just come out to me?”

 Oh, right. Wait for _that_. For a very, _very_ short moment I consider really messing with him but Maureen suddenly looks as if she’s going to beat _me_ over the head if I even think about trying – Dee doesn’t, weirdly. More like “Let’s see if he’s got the balls to go through with it” – so I decide to just, you know, bite the bullet and get it the fuck out in the open. “Yes, sir.”

 You know, there have been a couple reactions I’d imagined when I thought about Thomas Moore finally figuring out what Maureen and Dee have known for some time by now. Blinking, sitting back and then saying, “Which one?” was _not_ one of them.

 That takes _me_ so off-guard that all I can reply is a simple, “Sir?”

 He seems to have recovered remarkably fast since by now he’s back in his usual “I’m a sarcastic asshole and you all love me for it” role, shrugging and being just as obnoxious as usual. “Well, you know, gay, bi, whatever else floats your boat…”

 “Tom.” Maureen?

 And what’s with the fucking “Tom” anyw… “What? I’m just…”

 “Tom, don’t.” Actually, I’d like to see how many sexual orientations he can come up with? Just out of curiosity, since I have to admit that that’s not something I’d have pegged him with knowing.

 Goes to show how much _I_ bothered to learn about my commanding officer, huh? “Why not? What’s so…”

 “Seriously, Tom, you can’t just fucking go and…” Oh for _God’s_ sake.

 I’m right here. _Right_. Here. I decide to make an end of it. “Gay.”

 “What?” There. That got his attention, at least.

 I _try_ to look like this – you know, telling my American commanding officer whose stance on non-straight people serving in the military I have never been able to figure out – is something I do every day, could do in my sleep and do the one thing I’d kind of been hoping I wouldn’t have to do because _maybe_ he’d figure it out himself in time. I tell him in no uncertain terms, “I’m gay, sir.”

 He stops for a moment, then rubs his necks and goes “Huh, I didn’t even…” and yeah, no, suddenly, I’m very much not in the mood for hearing “But you don’t _act_ gay” since honestly, if I hear _any_ variation of that just one more time, _something_ will have to fucking _die_.

 So, for his own damn good, I actually do something I know he really fucking hates and interrupt him with telling Maureen and Dee, “Anyway, time to pay up for you two.”

 As predicted, the Major looks pretty much put out about being interrupted but Dee is fast enough to keep him from getting in my face for doing it. “Well, technically, sir…”

 “I had to tell him, you lose.” Those _were_ the rules, guys. When Dee figured it out – something about “I know it’s none of my business, sir, but next time you make out with Anderson from Biology, do it somewhere his boss can’t walk in on you two. She really just fucking hates it when her people date soldiers and we really need you on the team.” – we kind of ended up making a bet about how and when the Major would find out. Both Maureen and Dee were convinced that he’d figure it out for himself in just under a year, while I was pretty sure that I’d have to tell him at some point. And look what I just did.

 The Major, however, looks like he hasn’t _quite_ caught on what just happened yet. “Wait, wait, wait. You already _knew_ about this?”

 Both nod and say in perfect unison, “Yes, sir.”

 “… _how_?” Mh, nope, still hasn’t quite registered with him. I almost feel sorry for him.

 “We figured it out ourselves at some point.” And… that’s all Maureen tells him and I’m kind of grateful for that. Also, it occurs to me, that they really did mean it when they both reassured me they would keep it to themselves. Turns out, maybe I should just _really_ start trusting my teammates.

 “I can’t… what… why…” Yeah, okay, you know what, this is getting ridiculous.

 By now, I’m pretty sure that it’s not the fact that I’m gay that fails to compute with him but that until a few minutes ago, he was the only one in the team unawares of the fact that one of us isn’t straight. Which, granted, I probably shouldn’t say out loud since one of my most favorite things to do is reminding people not to assume everyone’s straight by default, in moments they absolutely do not expect someone to do so. You really wouldn’t think how often I get to do that around here.

 But yeah, not a priority right now. Instead, I finally take pity on the Major and take a resigned breath. “Sir?”

 He blinks again and then focuses on me, stopping his kind of alarmingly incoherent rant of people _constantly keeping things from him, what the fuck_ , and instead goes for a simple, kind of annoyed, “What?”

 Yeah, snap at the messenger, why don’t you. “First solo shift started five minutes ago.”

 That sobers him up surprisingly fast, acknowledging it with a simple, kind of absent-minded, “Right,” and then switching back into command mode as if nothing ever happened, “Okay, Dee, your turn, the rest: let’s go get some rack time.”

 With that, Dee throws me one last look, probably to make sure I’m okay – bless that guy’s heart but he really _is_ a fucking Mother Goose – and then takes up his post in front of the monitors while Maureen, the Major and I get up and make our way over to the booth next to the break corner. Maureen’s the first to walk through the curtain – not before throwing me another “You okay there, buddy?” look that I answer with rolling my eyes because Jeez, I’m not a delicate flower – separating the bunk room from the rest of the room, followed by the Major and me.

 When I enter the bunk room, she already climbed into the upper one of the two bunk beds on the left side, pulling the curtain closed, while the Major made himself comfortable in the lower of the two right-side beds. In the probably futile hope that _this_ time I will get my entire sleep break, I boldly go for the top right bunk. I’m pretty sure I’ll regret it because whenever we’re on security and surveillance, I’m _also_ on call for the infirmary and I tend to do stupid things when jumping down from the upper bunk in a hurry but yeah, a guy can hope, right?

 So I make myself comfortable, staring at the ceiling above my head and getting ready to at least dose off when I hear the Major’s voice from below, a little muffled through the curtain, asking, “Moose?”

 I consider not answering him and pretending to be asleep but something in that voice compels me to give him a noncommittal, “Mh?”

 He doesn’t answer right away, takes his time and just when I’m convinced that he must have fallen asleep at some point, I hear him say from below, “I’m sorry I gave you the feeling you couldn’t trust me enough to come forward and just tell me.”

 That… wasn’t what I expected to hear from a guy like him, _ever_. Or maybe it’s not really _what_ he said, more like the tone in which he said it. I think hearing it with the usual sarcasm as an undertone or even fake casualness to mask insecurity wouldn’t have thrown me off but that kind of dry, quiet sincerity? That’s weird. And telling me that he really means it. He really is sorry that apparently, in two years, we didn’t manage to build a rapport well enough for me to trust him and just spill it out at some point.

 Then again, he never asked, either and yes, I know it’s stupid but maybe, deep down I wanted him to figure it out for himself, like Maureen and Dee did, as some kind of stupid proof that I’m _not_ destined to be the new guy until the end of times, as a sign that he cared enough to get to know me. Which, everything considered, is completely absurd.

 I _know_ I should just tell him I accept his apology or maybe just wave it off but yeah, something in me isn’t ready for that. And _something_ in me really does not want to talk about this anymore and just go the fuck to sleep. I roll on my side, simply mumbling, “Good night, sir.”

 Another moment of silence, then a simple answer, “Good night, Moose,” _probably_ accompanied by rolling his eyes because that’s just the way he is. I also might or might not heard a pretty annoyed “Ugh” from the direction of Maureen’s bunk but I’ll guess I just let it slide tonight. It’s Christmas, after all, etc., yaddayadda. I can still go back to being the annoying foreign armed forces officer tomorrow.

 So, in the immortal words of my paternal grandmother: Fröhliche Weihnachten und eine gute Nacht, liebe Kinder.


	4. Four

** Four **

_Reece_

 You know what would be really nice? If, just for _once_ , I could have a normal, quiet, solitary Christmas. As long as I can remember it, Christmas was _always_ weird in some way. Granted, ever since coming to the SGC Christmas at least didn’t mean visiting graveyards for me – that _really_ kills any seasonal spirit, I can tell you – but yeah, I’m pretty sure that spending part of Christmas Eve in the infirmary after being chased by a mob of angry villagers, being under siege by space vampires or spending it _on your commanding officer’s couch_ falling asleep in said _commanding officer’s arms_ really isn’t how Christmas is traditionally celebrated, either.

 And hey, then there’s this year. On duty again. When I had plans to spend tonight with Laura somewhere quiet because we’d both wanted to avoid the usual Atlantis End of the Year Holidays Party. Goddammit, I _actually_ had plans tonight. I really, really wanted to spend it  with my best friend, because my best friend is still mourning her ex-boyfriend who got blown up by a fucking exploding tumor and who got her transfer request approved which means she’ll be gone after the next _Daedalus_ run. Which will be roughly in a week.

 So yes, I told the Major – _Tom_ – about just wanting peace and quiet and I wasn’t being insincere, I just didn’t tell him the whole story. It still feels like my friendship with Laura freaks him out or he kind of disapproves of it, deep down, so I try not to discuss it with him. It still seems to make him uncomfortable and he has an annoying tendency to get insufferable when he wants to cover up insecurities. It’s really just damn…

 “Captain Reece?” Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Combat-booted feet up on a chair and staring at a snow globe containing Atlantis in thought when you’re supposed to be intently watching monitors is _not_ how Sheppard’s second-in-command should find you. Even if it’s the tail end of the night’s solo shift row.

 Trying not to look too caught, I remove my feet from the chair, try to put the snow globe out of sight and sit up a little straighter. “Sorry, sir, I was just…”

 “’S fine, Captain,” Lorne says waving it off and… why does he look like barely got any sleep tonight? And… did he even shave? Evan Lorne, with dark circles under his eyes and a five o’clock shadow? On _duty_? How hard did _he_ party last night?

 Also, “Uh, what’s with the bags and the jug, sir?”

 He blinks and for a moment looks as if he completely forgot the brown paper bags and thermos jug in his hands. Then whatever just happened is over and he puts it all on the coffee table over in the break corner, saying, “Breakfast. I figured that after putting all of you on duty on a party night, least I could do was make sure you didn’t have to fight a hungover crowd for food and,” he holds up the jug with a significant look in his eyes, “ _coffee_.”

 “Thanks, sir,” I tell him and then just can’t _not_ add, “And here Major Moore kept telling us putting us on duty last night was a very petty way of getting back for, you know, the “game room incident”,” completely with air quotes and everything. Yeah, no, Tom’s not the only one who can be an ass.

 Lorne just shrugs and grins, hands in the pockets of his pants. “I never said it wasn’t.”

 Jesus fucking Christ. They graduated from USAFA over _ten fucking years ago_. At this point I’m afraid I’ll just have to accept that no matter what’s on their shoulders, they’ll never stop being cadets deep down. I resist rolling my eyes. “Late night, sir?” _Why_ can I never just shut the fuck up when I should? I just really, really hope both Tom and Dee are still asleep. I’ll _never_ hear the end of it, otherwise. At least Mats got called up by the infirmary two hours ago.

 Major Lorne, however, doesn’t seem to get what I’ve been alluding to, giving me an uncomprehending look and starting, “I’m not sure what you’re…” Yes? Oh, huh, seems like he realized what I was talking about anyway, rubbing a hand along his stubbled jaw and trying very hard not too blush. Now _that_ is interesting. “Oh, _that_. No, I just…” Just what? “I uh just ran into Lieutenant Cadman last night and she didn’t mind my company, so we uh…” Amazing what not enough sleep and two questioningly raised eyebrows can do to someone as in control as Evan Lorne can do. “And why am I even telling you this, Captain?”

 “I uh wouldn’t know, sir. Sure I’m the right one to ask?” Oh my fucking God, I really, _really_ need to just keep my trap shut. I blink. “Fuck, sir, I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have…”

 To my everlasting surprise, all he does is snort with amusement and then roll his eyes. “No, it’s okay, Captain. Was a good question, at least.” Was it? “And no, I really don’t know why I’m telling you this but long story short, I ended up on a balcony with Cadman and woke up in a deck chair just an hour ago.”

 “Don’t tell me Laura I mean Lieutenant Cadman just left you there?” Because that’s not the Laura I know. Also… that was _my_ evening. _I_ was supposed to sit there and talk with Laura until we both fell asleep. Not cool, sir!

 He shakes his head. “She had to report for duty two hours ago so yeah.” Okay, I can accept that. I still have no idea why Major Lorne of all people found Laura so far off the usual Atlantis hounds but it didn’t seem to have harmed either of them. So… “What’s with the snow globe?”

  _Fuck_. I really was hoping he’d either not see it in the first place or at least abstain from asking about it but seeing as he clearly noticed it and is my commanding officer _and_ my commanding officer’s commanding officer, trying the whole “Snow globe? What snow globe?” thing most probably won’t work. I try being casual about it but from the way my face heats up I can tell that I’m blushing when I shrug and tell him, “Christmas present, sir.”

 He raises his eyebrows and I _hate_ it when he does that. Both Lauras I know once mentioned that they feel like Evan Lorne can make you talk more with raising his eyebrows than anyone else with applying actual thumbscrews and like every other damn time, it works. “Major Moore apparently was feeling charitable.” At least I could make myself call him by his rank. Calling him “Tom” to Lorne’s face would probably lead to a whole new world of awkwardness.

 My answer makes Lorne frown first and then do this “Right, okay, whatever” thing with his face that seems to be eternally connected to Tom now. Okay, so hopefully that pulled him off _that_ … “Can I see it?” Nope, didn’t. Fuck.

 And I can’t even say no without giving him any stupid ideas of the “the lady doth protest too much” variety that I really, really hate so I try not to sigh too much when I hand it over with the words, “Sure, sir, knock yourself out.” Huh. That did sound a lot more casual than I feel about this whole thing.

 Because see, the snow globe Tom got me is kind of like an exact replica of the one he gave me for the last birthday I celebrated at the SGC, the one with an actual globe enclosing a miniature version of the Manhattan skyline and glitter raining down on it whenever you shake it. The one I foolishly placed on my desk until it was destroyed when the Wraith attacked us at the end of the first year. Except this one, the new one, doesn’t have Manhattan inside. It has _Atlantis_ and I have no fucking idea how and where he got that thing.

 Major Lorne, for his part, simply looks at it, shakes it and then appraises it with an unreadable look, before simply remarking, “Interesting,” before giving it back to me. At least he didn’t get to read the words Tom had engraved on the downside of the bottom. _At least we’ll always have Atlantis._ I’m still not sure if maybe he wasn’t just _drunk_ when he commissioned that inscription but at least it wasn’t _Here’s looking at you, Kid_.

 I’ve been mulling this thing over ever since going for rack time after Tom finally learning that he really needs to spend more time with getting to know his subordinates and that very manly “Let’s not waste unnecessary words on this” exchange he and Mats had and honestly, I have come up with _nothing_. What the _fucking_ hell is that inscription supposed to _mean_?

 For a moment, it looks as if Lorne wants to add something or maybe ask something but in the end, he just goes with, “Anyway… thanks for taking over this security and surveillance rotation. Just don’t tell Tom I appreciate it.”

 It makes me grin a little and amuses me enough that I decide to forgive him for taking away that evening that I’d wanted to spend with Laura – even though this whole riling up each others thing is _ridiculous_ for two grown-ass men – for now and just nod at him while he excuses himself to get ready for whatever off-world mission he’s scheduled for today.

 When he’s gone, I take a moment to just quietly sit there and look at the monitors, then shoot Laura a short e-mail telling her to meet me for lunch later today and get ready to tell me _everything_ and finally decide to get up and walk over to the bunk room. I just knock on the bulkhead next to the curtain and draw it aside slightly to annoy them both with calling out “Wakey, wakey,” in the most fake cheerful cheerleader voice I can manage before making myself comfortable on one of the couches and starting to dig into the food bags Lorne brought us.

 It only takes them two minutes to emerge from the bunk room in full battle rattle, absolutely ready for taking up duty and looking so fucking alert and awake that I can’t help wonder yet again what kind of dark magic they teach at special forces school. So yes, Dee’s always been an early riser and I have yet to catch him in anything but peak battle readiness even before his first cup of coffee but I know for a _fact_ that Tom _hates_ getting up early and needs at least two hours and an ungodly amount of coffee to get coherent when he’s off duty. When he’s on duty… “Where the hell did all that food come from?” Right.

 When he’s _on_ duty, he can actually switch from dead asleep to fully awake in about thirty seconds or less. It’s still scaring the _crap_ out of me. I shrug. “The Breakfast Fairy?”

 He sits down next to me and gives me a dead-pan look while tearing into the bag that apparently holds all the good, good empty carbs. I swear to God, Tom, if there’s a croissant in there and I don’t get it, there will be _murder_. “You know what? I don’t even want to know.” I share a look with Dee and the very slight grin tells me that he at least must have been awake when Lorne came inside. Right. “Croissant, Kid?”

 “You bet.” Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Never tell Tom you want something really, really bad or he’ll _immediately_ take it away from you.

 He grins and turns away from me, drawling, “Mh, too bad I got to it before you did.”

 I _knew_ it. The fucking _bastard_. Without even thinking about it, I launch myself at him, angling for the croissant, cursing his long arms and… “ _Please_ just get a fucking room.”

 And just like that, Mats manages to kill the mood, shuffling into the room and slumping down next to Dee. Tom frowns at him, then suddenly a grin appears on his face. Uh-oh. “Someone not getting laid enough lately? Maybe Anderson in Biology will…”

 “Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt and nearly got punched my lights out by his boss as a bonus. _Definitely_ not going to go there, _ever_ again.” The hell? And why doesn’t Dee look surprised _at all_? “Oh goody, bacon sandwiches!”

 Well, at least that moment of stunned silence gave me the window of opportunity I needed to get my damn croissant from Tom’s hand – getting sloppy, Major Special Tactics Officer? – and it _hopefully_ got everyone’s attention away from how I half hung all over Tom for at least a full minute. _Why_ do I keep doing stupid stuff like that?

 “Anderson’s boss is a five feet pixie weighing thirty pounds soaking wet. _Why_ am I keeping you on my team again?” You know what I think that Tom _really_ wanted to ask? He really, really wants to know whether he needs to employ some of that computer science magic to get Dr. Meghan Posen fired for being a homophobe and I think that’s kinda cute but also really stupid. I know for a fact that if that were the case, Meg would not be working in Atlantis anymore. Mats _would_ have made sure she got transferred out, and no one would ever have even noticed his involvement.

 The medic in question just shrugs. “She just really hates it when her people date soldiers. I have no idea why but I’m at least sixty percent sure that if I weren’t wearing that uniform, she’d have had the banns read on the spot or something.” Huh? “She really likes to read Regency romances?” So do I and I _don’t_ run around to get people… you know what? This is stupid.

 “Can we stop judging other people for their reading habits?” Right. Now they’re getting ready to judge _my_ reading habits. Idiots. “Honestly, just shut up and eat your breakfast.”

 “And here I thought _I_ was in command of this team,” I can hear Tom drawl and can _just_ keep myself from muttering “Since _when_?” and both Mats and Dee look very much like they actually expect me to. As does Tom, come to think of it. Which is why it surprises me that he just rolls his eyes and adds, “Anyway, yes, you’re right. Let’s all just shut up and eat breakfast and _not_ judge anyone’s reading habits.” Huh. That’s a new… “Although, really, Kid? Harry Potter _and_ Wormhole X-treme fanfic?”

 Fucking _hell_. You let that guy fix your computer _once_ and he goes through all your files, even the hidden ones? _Fuck_ him. Instead of dignifying that with an answer, I ball up one of the empty paper bags and hit him squarely in the face with it.

 In the end, it’s basically to Dee’s sole credit that this doesn’t spiral down into an outright food fight – did you know that those goose calls can be _really fucking loud_? Yeah, me neither – and we settle back into team banter and for some reason, it’s the least awkward and least tension filled banter we ever had, even when Tom wishes everyone a “merry _real_ Christmas” and Mats just gives him the finger for it while hogging the bacon sandwiches and well, it’s not the nicest Christmas I ever had but it’s right up there with the one we had when we were still serving at the SGC and Laura was still with us and that’s saying a lot. Because that _was_ the nicest Christmas I ever had.

 Maybe… it’ll never be like it was with Laura. But maybe, _maybe_ it doesn’t have to be. Maybe it’s enough that somehow, at least for tonight, we lost all that awkwardness and lingering tension we’ve been carrying around with us for two years now. Maybe we should just stop trying to get all we had with Laura back and instead try to build a new thing. Maybe we already have.

 Maybe realizing that is an even better Christmas present than the Atlantis snow globe. And that was a damn fine Christmas present, if I’m honest.

 Merry fucking Christmas to all of us.


End file.
